


Wind In Her Hair, Blood On Her Claws

by Kastaka



Category: Changeling: The Lost
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 14:37:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kastaka/pseuds/Kastaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't need to run any more, even when I do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind In Her Hair, Blood On Her Claws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palmedfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmedfire/gifts).



> With thanks to mirrorshy for beta-ing :-)

I don't need to run any more.

Sometimes I run. I still like to run. I like to feel the wind in my hair (not my fur). I like to feel the ground beneath my feet (not my paws). I like to run because I can, because I'm still good at it, because I want to, not because I have to.

I see it in their eyes, from time to time. The look that they give me, when they think I'm not looking. I can almost hear it. I remember tasting it in the air - their fear, their desperation, their gradual realisation that I was faster than them...

...they probably think that I had it easy.

I don't need to run any more, even when I do.

Even when I am running away, or running towards, or running someone down. Even when I am chasing the goblin that stole our last golden apple, the only thing which is standing between Babuskha and total breakdown over not being there any more, over not being able to make things like she could in _their_ workshop.

Maybe she will sell our location to them, if I don't succeed. Maybe she will lead them to us. But we've moved before. We can move again. We can leave her behind. I don't have to. It can occur to me, the thought that I could not be doing this.

Even when there's a purpose to it, even when I'm engaged body and soul in the chase, when my fur comes out the strongest, when my arms and legs change to propel me forwards ever faster; even then, I could stop. I could stop. I could stop any time. The knowledge is exhilarating; almost addictive; that I could stop.

I don't need to run any more, but I do.

There are so many threats that I can protect them from. So many messages that need a swift courier. So many people and creatures and things that think that they can get the better of us - because we are young to our minds, even if we are old in body sometimes; because we are not quite of the world between, even though it has claimed us.

And we are not quite of the world without, either.

I went back, once. We all do, mostly. When we get away from them, we think we can get our old lives back; that we can live like we did before, if we remember anything of the time before. That we can take the place we were born to, at least, even if we were too young to remember it. Some of us make it, too, they get in there and they reclaim what was taken from them...

Some of us are strong enough to kill, even though we don't have to.

I know it is not like real killing. I know they are not like real people. But my mother and my father and my sister, they treat it like a real person; and I think in some way it responds to that, it becomes as much of a real person as it is able. And who am I to deny it that? I have had enough of hunting; I have had enough of killing; I have had enough of death. Let it have my place, and be happy with it. I still have the wind and the sky and the open road, and they are enough for me.

Some of us are weak enough to kill, even though we don't have to.

I suppose I shouldn't be so judgemental. I suppose I did have it easy, when it comes to that. There wasn't any choice, but there wasn't much consciousness either; and there wasn't as much pain as some of them suffered; and there wasn't as much strangeness as some of them were warped by. And I can still do the things I did then, the things I am good at, without falling apart; without needing anything from them.

And we will never be quite part of any world again.

At least I was made something that was real, more or less, more than some of the others. The instincts, the trappings, they are all natural - and they are all mine. I was part of a display, yes, part of a system; but all of the other pieces are available to me, in their own way, out here in the Hedge and in the world. Except now I protect the prey, rather than hunting it.

I don't need to run any more, but I do.

Even though they value me, I think the others find it strange that I can still enjoy it. They exhibit their gifts, the shapes they were bent into, when there is need for them; but few of them have made their peace with what they have become. Few of them have taken it into themselves, and made it part of them, made it obey their will, made it their own.

Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe there's a part of me that just never escaped, and it is that which lets me accept these things about myself; to revel in them, even. But I don't think that's it. I think I just had an easier time of it than some of them; I think it's just not in my nature to hold grudges.

I mean, I'm no friend of _theirs_ , much as some people might look askance, might question my lack of instinctive desire for vengeance on those that took me. I've seen what they have done to the others; I've understood that the things they made me do were terrible, that the prey were all people too, that the blood on my claws might well have been from one of my new family.

I don't need to run any more, but I do.

...they think I'm still running from the truth.

I see it in their eyes, from time to time. The look of awkward pity that they give me, when they think I'm not looking. They think that one day I'm going to wake up and go, my God, I'm a monster; and then I won't be able to run without feeling like they do, when they use their 'gifts'.

But I don't think so. I just like to run. I like the connection to the world it gives me. I like the connection to my body that it gives me; my real body, with fingers and toes and the ability to speak and think and understand. I like to run because I don't have to, but I can choose to.

I don't need to run any more.

But I choose to.

This is me. This is mine. 

_They_ cannot have it. _They_ cannot take my joy.

 _They_ will have to catch me first.


End file.
